


I'm good.

by alchxmy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky/Steve - Freeform, Flashbacks, M/M, PTSD shit, steve rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchxmy/pseuds/alchxmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky swears on his grave that he's been good, but he doesn't think he can handle it if Steve comes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm good.

It’s always the same in the early morning hours: muffin, jog, shower, work. He doesn't actually work just some yard work while he waves at the occasional neighbor, but besides that, he’s been successful with avoiding any human contact. It’s been almost year since he visited the Smithsonian and he wonders if this is was happiness is.

He doesn't get out much, he doesn't have a dog or cat, he hates the block parties they throw, he hates most of the gossip surrounding him. _The man with the metal arm_. Most of them try to avoid him as well, knowing right well that their eyes won’t look at his.

Sometimes he’s wondered how much it would hurt to rid himself of the last piece that connects himself to _them_ , but he doesn't have the guts to tear it off. Sometimes he asks himself how he’s gone this long without going crazy.

But he knows he has gone crazy. The sleepless nights of him holding a gun to the door, the night terrors, the sweats when he sees a neighbor raise their arm from a coat pocket, the anxiety that comes along with it all has almost made him wish to be wiped and frozen.

Because he doesn't have Steve to hold his hand through the whole process of memory recovery. He’s not the man Steve would want him to be, because he’s not James Buchanan Barnes. He’s the Winter Soldier, a man from a Russian camp that has killed more people in the last sixty years than he can count of his fingers. Though on some days, he wakes up and remembers his name, his date of birth, his soldier pin number and Steven Grant Rogers, the man that’s done everything to keep him alive.

Bucky knows he’s definitely not the same man he used to be, he’s a mixture of James Buchanan Barnes and the Winter Soldier.

 

Almost two months before a red head stood outside of his house at three o'clock in the morning, staring at his window. It was a rough night for him, a gun holding night. He went outside and pointed it at her.

She said she had no trouble for him, but he remembered her, from the bridge with Steve and that other guy. She said Steve was looking for him, she had given him the file from Kiev. She talks to him slowly, as if trying to not spook him, but he’s already on high alert.

She’s fast, he said to her, no one should have found him. He covered his tracks, _good_. She almost laughed at that but noticed the startled look in his eyes when she started.

Natasha Romanov, she explained. Trained assassin from Russia, her homeland. He wants to say, yes, me too, but he knows that’s not right and so does she. She said that he had a friend looking for him. The choking noise that came after that was recognized as a laugh. The first time in many years he laughed.

Friends? My friends are all _dead_ , I am dead, I am not _Bucky_ , he spat at her and turned around towards his home. He was doing good all alone, he didn’t need this woman or Steve to console him, nurse him back into health.

Then what is Steve? It was the last question she asked before disappearing. He made a mess of the house that night, he didn’t care what he broke, and he didn’t care if he had to pay for a new item to replace it because he knew the answer to the question.

Steve was his best friend in the late 1900s. He died in 1945, replacing the man he knew with a better version, a more inept one. The Winter Soldier was the one who crushed everyone in his path, never once stopping for pity.

Steve Rogers was the man he looked after because he knew he couldn't look after himself. He looked more hopeless when coming out of a bathroom than coming from a fight. Bucky knew that. He knew some people laughed at him for liking the man and sticking by his side. Friends did that for each other.. They stuck around and waited until the other one was ok.

 

On October 31st, 2015, Bucky saw the face he never wanted to see ever again. It had been over a year since he had faced this man and he was doing good, so good he could go to block parties now.

"Oh, _Buck_ ," the words came out in a whisper and he barely heard them as it was. His first instinct was to grab his collar and throw him against a wall, a concealed knife pressing against his neck like he was trained to do, but that was behind him.

"Steve," he said quietly and looked at him, he didn't want to talk to him anymore. Now his stomach was in a knot and he was scared. "You shouldn't-"

"Natasha told me... She said that it was time to see you and I had to believe her this time," he said and let a small smile grace his face.

Bucky was doing good, he was doing so good and he didn't want Steve to ruin it now. "It's not time, I'm _fine_ , I don't need you here anymore, the nightmares don't come around. I'm fine," he said tiredly. He wanted to be ok, he really wanted to convince himself that he was ok but he knew he wasn't. The nightmares came every day, his stress was over the roof and his arm hurt so badly that he had to hold in the tears.

"I can help you, we can help you," Steve said as he nodded his head towards a black suburban. He tensed up and his pupils went large. Steve saw this (naturally) but didn't comment, which made Bucky feel just a bit better.  
  
"You need to leave here, you compromised everything. Everything!" he said, his voice raising at the end. "Can't you just leave me alone? Godamnit Steve, I needed to be alone, I have been so good! So fucking _good_ ," he breathed and let his hands tighten around his dark locks. "I have been good Steve, good.. Why did you have to come and ruin it.." he whispered and held onto the hair that covered his face.

He felt arms wrap around him and his body became rigid. "Because I need to take you home, because I love you and you can't do this alone," he whispered against Bucky's head.  
"I already have a home," Bucky said. He wanted to stay here, with the nice neighbors and the block parties and the _goodness_ that surrounded these people. "I want to stay here and be good and make you proud," he whispered miserably.

The sound that came out of Steve made Bucky smile for the first time in almost six months.

 

Bucky held onto the large box and set it down on the floor. "You promised that I wouldn't do all the heavy work!" he yelled down the stairs, a pale hand waving a bit at the comment. Bucky groaned a bit to himself. He set the last box down and let out a soft sigh.

He clenched his fists tight then let them relax, today was the day. The day everything settled into place and he'd finally prove he was worth it. He was normal.

"Buck, what are you doing?" he hears the quiet voice and turns towards it. "You ok?"

Bucky looks at Steve and lets the smallest smile grace his face. "Yeah, I'm good."


End file.
